


Lighthouse

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, PTSD, Quentin is a mess as usual, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-28 02:14:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15038450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: Summary: After Quentin’s ordeal with the lamprey, he boards the Muntjac but dreams and guilt follow. Confiding in Eliot might be the only way he can see the truth and shake off the recent past.





	Lighthouse

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Welter’s Challenge, week six, “Gods and Monsters.” I don’t own The Magicians, they own me. This is just for fun. Comment and kudos are magic . . . enjoy!

Lighthouse   
By Lexalicious70

Quentin was free. 

Sailing out on the open water, the Muntjac pitching in a steady rhythm beneath him, the exotic Fillorian sea breathing it salty brine in Quentin’s face as he hoisted sails and climbed the ship’s massive mast was like coming home to a place he’d lived in his dreams as a boy. There, out on the ocean, he could leave all of it behind on land—Alice’s accusing stare, her resentment of him for putting her back in a prison of skin and flesh, Penny’s terminal cancer, the absence of magic—all of it. 

Quentin also had Eliot—courageous, beautiful Eliot, who was aboard with him in search for the seven keys that might help them bring back magic. Eliot’s presence, a balm on Quentin’s soul after their long separation, had become the constant Quentin hadn’t realized he’d needed. It drove away the horror of living in a world without magic—save one. 

That one horror visited at night, after the sea waves rocked Quentin to sleep. It slithered into his dreams, a malevolent pale worm, its mouth a sucking horror lined with gnashing, spiny teeth. The memories of how it had invaded Quentin’s body wove detailed nightmares for him every night. It seemed that while the lamprey was gone, its damaging psychological taint remained. 

On Quentin’s fourth night at sea, Quentin’s dreams led him to a dark room where the only source of light came from the glint of a large oval mirror. As Quentin approached it and his image grew more detailed, the skin at his throat began to ripple. Quentin opened his mouth to scream, only to birth the lamprey from between his lips, where it tore his jaw apart and caused freshets of blood to spill down his chin. As Quentin moaned and tried to close his ruined jaw with one hand, his eyes bulged, then burst, as the lamprey’s eggs hatched inside him and ate their way out. The mirror shattered at the same time, waking Quentin in the near-darkness of his cabin. His eyes snapped open but he neither gasped or sat up, the dream holding him in a paralytic embrace. He laid there, sweat beading on his temples and turning his underarms into damp tangles of anxiety. As the dream’s hold weakened, Quentin sat up and lit a lantern on the table next to his cot. It illuminated the room in a butter-yellow glow and Quentin gave a sharp bark of fear as a mirror across the room caught the light. The dream came back to him with vivid force and Quentin bolted, grabbing the lantern and staggering across the room and up the short flight of steps in the corner. The corridor there featured two glowing lanterns and a cabin door, adorned with a painting of Eliot’s crown. Quentin paused, his knuckles white as he clutched the lantern’s handle. He warred with himself for nearly a full minute and then nearly dropped the lantern when the cabin door swung open. Eliot stood there in a red-and-black silk robe, his crown absent, his dark hair tousled. He took in Quentin’s shivering form, clad in a linen sleep shirt that barely covered his thighs, before reaching out to take the lantern from the younger magician. 

“Quentin? What are you doing?” He asked, and Quentin pushed a lock of loose hair behind one ear. 

“I’m not sure. I—I guess I got turned around looking for the head. Sorry I woke you, El.” Quentin turned away and Eliot’s right hand on his shoulder made him pause. 

“Unless you have some violent form of STD, you wouldn’t be shaking on your way to the bathroom. Quentin.” Eliot’s voice softened. Come on. Come in here and talk to me.” The hand squeezed gently, then massaged, and Quentin relented. He followed Eliot into his cabin and shut the door, admiring how Eliot’s long, lean frame counterbalanced the Muntjac’s movements and how he never seemed to misstep. Eliot hung the lantern, throwing light across the cabin and illuminating his writing desk, bed, and the drawers built into the walls. Eliot’s crown rested on a plum-colored pillow that sat on one of the room’s few shelves. The jade raced with golden light each time the Muntjac met the crest of an oncoming wave. 

“Here, have a seat.” Eliot led Quentin over to the bed, which lacked an ornate headboard but was larger than Quentin’s little cot. The mattress wasn’t luxurious but soft enough to make Quentin want to lie back on it. He swallowed against the rapid slamming of his heart, the dream still at the helm of his consciousness and driving his anxiety like a freight train full of jangled nerves. Eliot pushed something cool into his hand—fresh water—and Quentin sipped from the porcelain tumbler. 

“Thanks. That’s good,” he said after a moment. Eliot sat down on the foot of the bed and tucked his big feet up under his thighs. 

“I’m sure you’re parched,” Eliot nodded. “I realize it’s humid on board, Q, but you’re sweating like you just outran a pack of horny werewolves.” 

“I’m okay, El. Really.” Quentin sipped more water. 

“Pardon me while I disagree. Vehemently.” Eliot rose and went to the quarter’s washing stand, where he wet a cloth will cool water and wrung it out before turning toward his friend. Quentin ducked him, trying to hide behind a grumpy scowl, but Eliot scoffed and collared him in a grip that was almost effortless. The cloth swept across his forehead, his cheeks, and then—oh, bliss—rested at the back of neck as Eliot lifted his hair with his other hand. Quentin sighed and Eliot’s clever hands were at the hem of his nightshirt a moment later, tugging it up and off. Quentin gave a startled yelp of surprise, then Eliot was wrapping him in a clean silk robe. 

“Relax, Quentin. That nightshirt is soaked.” Eliot tossed it into a wicker basket in the corner. 

“Thanks.” Quentin pulled the fine material around himself and smiled as Eliot’s scent wafted up like a soothing breeze. 

“It’s no trouble.” Eliot sat back down. “So. You must have had some interesting adventures before you found your way back here. I did too . . . did I tell you I met The Great Cock?” 

“The Great—uhm, no, I don’t think so.” 

“Arrogant, but I suppose he has a right to be. And he did point me in the right direction when it came to starting this quest.” Eliot paused and leaned back to remove the damp towel from the back of Quentin’s neck. “What about you? Any run-ins with fantastic beasts?” He asked, and Quentin’s hand tightened around the water glass. 

“Uhm. You know . . . the usual weirdness. Nothing to portal home about.” 

“Is that why you’re practically leaving finger impressions in that glass? Or why you showed up here a shivering mess from what had to be one hell of a nightmare—what?” Eliot asked as Quentin flinched in surprise. “You think I don’t recognize night terrors when I see them? You don’t think I’ve had them?” 

“I—I guess you probably have, but this isn’t like—” The name hung unspoken in the air. “What you might have nightmares about.” 

“Then tell me about them.” 

“What good will that do?” 

“Quentin. I’m not a fool, and I’ve dealt with enough to give me a lifetime of nightmares—and to know that some kind of trauma causes them to manifest themselves.” Eliot reached out and touched Quentin’s face. “Tell me what happened.” 

“Mmmm-mm. No. I can’t.” 

“Why not? Were we separated so long that you don’t trust me anymore?” 

“No! It’s not about trust, El . . . it’s—it’s just so embarrassing. I didn’t want anyone to know because I feel weak and stupid that I couldn’t stop it—” 

Alarm flashed across Eliot’s face. 

“Wait. Quentin, did someone—hurt you?” He asked, and Quentin glanced away. 

“It wasn’t a someone. It—it was a lamprey, one of those creatures that was chasing Alice because she’d been killing them off when she was a niffin. One of them found us, and uhm . . . turns out they can jump from host to host. Like a parasite.” 

“A parasite.” A mental image rose in Eliot’s mind, one that made him feel furious and nauseated at the same time. “Q, did this thing hurt you?” 

“I didn’t know what was happening at first.” The words started to tumble out of Quentin, as if Eliot’s question had broken some mental dyke. There was this guy in an alley near Alice’s place. When he approached me, I didn’t know what he wanted but then he just attacked me. The lamprey was in him and it must have known it could get to Alice if—” Quentin’s voice trembled and Eliot put a hand over his. 

“Q. Lampreys are among the most powerful beings in this realm or any other. You couldn’t have possibly defended yourself, especially without magic.” 

“I thought I knew what pain was, especially after we battled The Beast. But this was—it was like being eaten alive, El. It chewed right through my clothes and just—” Quentin swallowed against the truth. “Went inside me.” 

“Oh, Q.” Eliot shifted forward and slid his long arms around his smaller friend. “I’m so sorry.” 

Quentin stiffened at the embrace but Eliot’s familiar touch and scent won out over his anxiety and he allowed his head to drop onto Eliot’s shoulder. 

“I’ve never felt so helpless in my entire life. It controlled me completely once it was inside and all I could do was watch. It tried to use me to kill Alice, it—it laid eggs in my stomach—” The last word broke on a sob and Eliot rocked him, carding one big, elegant hand through his tawny hair. 

“Shhhh, Q. Shhh, it’s all right, you’re safe here.” Eliot tugged Quentin forward until he was sitting in his lap. He let the young man cry for a few minutes and then rubbed a soothing hand over his back. “Was Alice able to kill it?” He asked, and Quentin nodded. 

“It jumped into her father, but the stress was too much for his heart. He died, El, right in front of Alice, and it was my fault!” 

“No.” Eliot pulled back and frowned. “That’s bullshit, Q.” 

“How is it bullshit? I brought that thing into Alice’s house!” 

“Wrong. Alice brought that thing into Alice’s house when she decided to hunt down lampreys as a niffin. If anything, what happened to you was her fault!” 

“Maybe she knew that. Maybe that’s why she helped me purge the eggs after the lamprey left.” 

“Perhaps we can gloss over that detail.” Eliot’s lips puckered in distaste. Quentin gave a weak chuckle. 

“Gladly.” He wiped his eyes with one hand. “I wish I didn’t remember it all so clearly. Or feel so fucking weak for letting it happen.” He pushed his hair back. “So cowardly.” 

“I know how you feel,” Eliot nodded, and Quentin frowned. 

“How can you? You’re the High King, El, you’ve faced down dozens of enemies without even ruffling your hair!” 

“Thank you for admitting you notice my hair. But actually, there was this one incident. I was facing imminent death at the hands of this powerful being that was intent on destroying me and Margo. And it would have, if not for the heroic actions of a fellow magician, who nearly gave his life and sacrificed someone he cared about to save us.” Eliot smiled and touched Quentin’s hair. “And when I saw him there, in the aftermath, I never felt more helpless or weak in my life. Because I thought I might lose him.” 

Quentin blinked in realization. 

“You mean in the clearing near the wellspring . . . when I released my cacodemon.” 

Eliot nodded. 

“Margo and I still talk about it. How brave you were and how you must have known what might happen to Alice.” He pushed a lock of hair aside, out of Quentin’s face. “P.S., when we’re in a better place, I am braiding this hair.” 

“Like hell.” Quentin nudged the hand away with a playful gesture before he sighed. “You’re right, El. I did know what might happen that day. But Alice wanted to hurt you and Margo for something I chose to do. I couldn’t let you pay for my infidelity.” 

“Thank you, Q. And also, thank you for not calling that night a mistake.” 

“What I did to Alice was a mistake. But being with you and Margo—it felt too natural to be wrong. It just took me some time to realize it.” 

“Cowardice, weakness, right, wrong . . .” Eliot lifted a shoulder. “It’s all so subjective, Q. Alice was cowardly to let the lamprey get that close to you because it wanted revenge. You did nothing wrong and you, Quentin Coldwater, are one of the bravest souls I’ve ever met, with or without magic.” He leaned in and kissed Quentin on the mouth. Quentin’s dark eyes widened. 

“What was that for?” He asked, and Eliot smiled as he turned down the lantern and pulled Quentin onto the bed with him. 

“Consider it my own special brand of cacodemon.” He spooned Quentin and slipped an arm around him as the Muntjac rocked them both. Quentin gave a sigh as he reveled in Eliot’s presence, and the older magician whispered in his ear as drifted off to sleep. 

“Eliot says go free.” 

Fin


End file.
